


Keep Me Warm At Night

by MountainRose



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Caught in a Storm, Chronic Illness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Service Dogs, dog!dum-e, hurt!Tony, lumberjack!steve, no powers au, taking refuge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 16:57:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20781980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MountainRose/pseuds/MountainRose
Summary: Tony and Steve meet for business, but a storm blows in and everything gets a little more intense.





	Keep Me Warm At Night

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Szzzt, Synteis and Athletiger for cheer and beta work! This one would have died without you guys.

Steve hated paperwork. 

There were forms for mill rental, for land lease, for the conservation grant, proof of quarantine, invoices, bills, insurance--

Fuck it. 

He gave up on the numbers and slumped back in his chair, into the patch of sun he’d been waiting for since lunch. Warm, golden, and soporific, it fell over his face and neck and leached all the tension away from his muscles. God, he could nap, he really could; there was nothing like filling in for the Park Rangers to make him off his game. He’d been up for hours last night, following the distant sound of gunshots through frost-hard ground and drifts of snow up to his knees. 

The off-season was no place for city boys with guns to be traipsing around Steve’s part of the world, and he’d sent them home empty handed at about three a.m. Still, at least Clint hadn’t been on patrol with his cough, and he would’ve if Steve hadn’t stepped in, the stubborn little--

Steve sighed heavily and hauled himself out of his chair; as lovely as the rare winter sun was, if he didn’t restock the fire now, he’d be rummaging in the woodpile in the dark, after his afternoon meeting. 

Clint was just like that, though, Steve and Thor had to watch him and make sure his climbing harness was well oiled, and he'd be okay. He didn't have a deathwish, and he was incredibly good at his job, but he might just catch pneumonia out of sheer self neglect. Steve pulled on his sheepskin hat and tucked the flaps over his ears, grinning at the thought of Clint going out on patrol with his carafe of coffee.

The woodpile was topped with three, maybe three and a half inches of fresh snowfall and a crust of refreeze where the sun had melted the very surface layer; a pleasingly crunchy kind of snow that would make a good snowball. He swept it away from the tarp with a smile and started filling his cart. If he kept going until the contractor arrived, he could probably get three loads stacked beside the stove and they’d be dry by the time he needed them. 

He settled into the manual labour far more easily than he had the paperwork, the swing and toss easing the ache of sitting at his desk for hours. 

By the time the rumble of tires up his track made him finish up, he was halfway through the third barrow; they were early. He wheeled the cart to beside his front door and brushed splinters off his gloves so he could lock his front door.

“Mr. Rogers?” 

“Here!” He yelled, finishing up and carefully zipping his keys into his breast pocket before heading around the side of the cabin. The client, a Mr. Stark, was standing beside a big, sleek, all-terrain vehicle, bundled up in high-quality cold weather gear. 

“Mr. Stark, hello. Steve Rogers, at your service,” Steve said, striding forwards to offer his hand. Stark took it with a broad grin; handsome guy, well groomed and with strong, wiry limbs under his gear. Even through two layers of gloves and a sheepskin mitten, his grip was firm and confident; definitely a good first impression. 

“Tony Stark, uh, same, I’m sure,” Stark replied, looking at him oddly. Steve thought it should be the other way around, since Stark had a suit jacket on under his parka, and wasn't even wearing his hat.

“So, you’re after the English oak, right?” Steve asked, stepping back slightly to surreptitiously check the truck’s chains.

“That's right. It’s best for fine joinery, and what with Sudden Oak Death--” Stark shrugged, his expression unhappy as he jammed his hat on his head.

“Yeah, environmental implications aside, the market’s a mess. Half the suppliers can’t find buyers, and half the buyers can’t find suppliers,” Steve commented, not too happy himself. Sudden Oak was a disease that had taken out some of the oldest plantations, Civil War era and older, even. Bad business. 

“But you’re untouched up here, and you’ve got a patch ready for harvest; my investors are willing to pay whatever you need, so! Here I am.” He spread his gloved hands wide, hopeful grin stretching his beard. 

“That's right, Mr. Stark. We’ve been thinking about thinning for a while,” Steve commented, “and if the wood is right for your requirements, we’ll start a one-in-eight once the worst of the storms are done.” 

“Call me Tony, please,” Stark said absently, stamping his feet against the frozen ground with an assessing eye.

“Steve, then," Steve told him. He obviously wasn’t some ignorant suit, to Steve’s relief; his boots were sturdy, and the tyre chains were the deep tread snow variety that the parks service used. 

“Good roads so far, how’s access to the site?” 

"It’s just as good,” Steve responded, taking another look at Stark’s vehicle; it’d hold up just fine. “And the roads will stay frozen hard until mid February. But I’m sure you want to take a look yourself.”

“I think you’d better get driving then, _Steve._” Tony tossed him a set of keys and Steve scrambled to catch them, mittens proving a distinct disadvantage. 

“You sure?” Steve asked, holding the keys carefully in one thick glove while he shoved the other in his pocket, leaving the mitten behind when he pulled it out again. 

“Why not. If your truck wasn’t in the shop, we’d be set,” Stark said, shrugging and shoving his hands in his pockets so Steve couldn’t toss the keys back. Steve frowned slightly, glancing down at the keyring; he definitely hadn’t told Stark that his truck was busted. “But as it is, you’ll just have to trust my word that she’s a good machine.” 

“Oh, I don’t doubt that... How’d you know about Bronco?” Steve asked, then blushed fiercely. he’d meant to say ‘my truck’, but Thor and Clint and even Bruce didn’t bat an eyelid at calling it ‘bronco’ since the suspension upgrade, and he’d gotten in the habit, dear god, how embarrassing. 

Stark grinned at him, delighted by something, and Steve turned away to hide his face as he stomped around to the drivers side, trying to knock the snow off his boots.

“Tire marks, cleared parking space, and jack dents in the permafrost. That’s what...loose engine bracket? Cracked head-gasket?” 

“It’s not perma--” Steve stopped, trying not to screw his face up too much; how’d Stark _seen_ all that? “Something like that.” He pulled the driver's side door open and leaned in to check the glove compartment; first aid kit and spare chains. 

“Toolbox in back, survey kit in the locker and GPS under the passenger seat,” Stark reported, leaning on the passenger seat with his arms crossed, and his expression inscrutable. 

“Great. Trip’s an hour each way, survey’ll take, what...three? Back in time for sunset.”

"We'd better get going then," Stark said, agreeably enough, and hauled himself up into the cab with a surprising amount of grace for such a tall vehicle.

Steve followed, the suspension dipping with a good, solid away and not too much bouncing. “Nice springs,” Steve said, pausing on the footplate with his hand on the door and dipping his knees to bounce them again. 

“Top of the line, but fitted them myself!” Stark called, his voice muffled by something. “Wanted more damping than standard.” 

Steve could feel it as he swung himself into the driver’s seat; no rebound as he moved. The interior was new-ish, but well-used; mud and the red dust of melted grit salt stained the floor. The steering wheel had the factory shine rubbed off at two and six, too. A proper working vehicle. 

Stark had a thermos out, coffee by the smell, and poured out two travel mugs as Steve pulled the seat back. Stark wasn’t that much shorter than Steve, but apparently had less leg. 

“So, your credentials say you’ve got conservation group status--” Stark started, offering up one of the mugs to Steve and slotting it in the cupholder in one smooth gesture. Steve nodded in thanks, and they were off. 

Stark ran the meeting like the professional he was, asking all the right questions about quarantine and bark beetles, sap quality and growth rates, and Steve could concentrate on driving over the rough terrain because the answers were right there in the forefront of his mind. It was a nice change from so many meetings where he had to coach people through asking the right questions. The grant hearing had been the worst; he’d mentioned ash-dieback and he’d been met with seven blank faces. 

“--yeah, okay. We’re after heartwood, so Ancient’s are out of the question, and I’ll want to crown-check any Veterans, too...” Tony muttered, agreeing to Steve’s upper limit on size as if it was a matter of course, then trailing off, his focus captured by the GPS mapping their route. Steve could only just hear him muttering about signal strength over the growl of the engine as it hauled them up the side of a hill.

“Sorry about that; perils of a north-facing plantation. Signal should be good where we’re going, but there are dark patches in between.” GPS was only good on the southern facing parts of Steve’s land, and only where the hills weren’t in the way. “We’re due to coppice some of the bigger ones; would you be interested in the cuttings?” Steve asked, leaning forwards over the steering wheel as he navigated them around a hairpin bend that was so steep snow barely settled on it. The rare winter sun was gone, too, which was a sadness; winter oak groves looked fantastic in the sun, because the mossy trunks and roots were still vibrant green, despite the ice.

“Nope,” Tony replied, popping the ‘p’ and shuffling his notes as the steep incline threatened to send them into the back of the truck. “Too liable to warp, too much tension grown in. We’re precision machining the components, there’s no room for that much post-work movement in the design.” 

“CNC-CAD?” Steve asked despite it being none of his business; he was curious, and Tony had a nice voice.

“Five axis,” Tony said, nodding and grinning over at Steve. It was one hell of a smile, too, full of glee and enthusiasm. “We just invested in a new router, eight by four bed, with a tooling depth of a full four feet--”

And he was off again, less professional this time. His whole body got in on the excitement of describing and extolling the virtues of his new machine. Steve found himself grinning along as Tony used his hands to twist the air into an approximation of what a five-axis router could do.

“We work in aluminum, a lot. Steel sometimes, too, so wood is always a bit of a challenge. We’ve calibrated the humidity in the store to match the end location, so hopefully conditioning should go smoothly--” 

They talked solidly for the entire journey. 

* * *

Steve made good time; for all that he looked like a country hick with his plaid shirt sticking out of his coat collar and the sheepskin hat over his ears, he could really drive. 

And he had this _laugh, _whenever Tony made some wry observation about the grant boards or legislature. After a while, Tony started making them just to see whether he could make that ridiculous, bubbly laugh come again. They finished up official business about half way, and after that Tony would usually have buried himself in his phone or found a way of fiddling with his designs, despite the rough terrain. But instead, they kept talking; everything from his new router to Steve’s busted head gasket. 

“Here we go...” Steve said, about fifty minutes after he’d started the car, and Tony sat up to peer out the window. They pulled into a clearing big enough to park up a logger, blanketed in snow, crisp and unmarked at first glance. Most of the plantation was larch and pine with birch interspersed in patches, all fast growing wood, but for the last ten minutes, the forest had been hardwood; beech and tall ash, occasional oaks but nothing worth buying. Opposite, over a fence, however, was quite a different story.

Big, open woodland, where the trunks were all the craggy, mossy bark of old oak. Big, sixty year old specimens mixed in with younger replanting, their roots plunging deep into dark, rich soil. Tony popped his door and dropped down onto the snow, tugging his hat down over his ears: the air temperature was dropping as it clouded over. 

"Alright, this is what I'm talking about." Tony opened the back of the truck wide and pulled out his instruments, their neat little screens lighting up one by one as they connected to the GPS and calculated their relative positions. Steve, facing the woodland missed all of this, which Tony considered a shame, because it was proprietary technology that Tony had put together himself. 

"Here, make yourself useful!" he called, holding a data logger out to Steve, who obligingly trotted over and admired the sophistication of the tech. 

Tony tried not to feel too pleased about that; Steve was part of the target customer group, not a Rumiko or a Pepper. 

Tony shook the thought off, deciding not to flirt, because he'd probably never see Steve after this job was over and Steve would be way too easy to...want to come back to. He didn't seem like the one-night type. 

"So what do I do?" Steve asked, interrupting Tony's thoughts before they could veer back off into dangerous territory. 

Tony slammed the truck closed and hunched down into his collar; the wind was getting up. "Just hold onto it, and tell me whether a tree is for sale or not? I'll do the rest."

Steve nodded obligingly enough, squinting up at the sky apprehensively. "Weather's turned, we might get more snow."

Tony nodded, boosting his kit bag higher up his shoulder and stomping around the truck. "Yeah. Forecast was for wind, too, could get unpleasant; I’ll try not to hang about." 

* * *

It got unpleasant. 

"_Time to go, Mr. Stark!" _Steve yelled over the rising wind. They had made good time, for the circumstances, but the wind was picking up, and there was ice in it now. Oak wasn't exactly ideal storm-shelter either; an old plantation like this was bound to drop branches in rough weather. 

_"Right!" _Tony called back, shoving some blue-glowing instrument back in his bag. "_I've got enough to get started!"_

Steve nodded back, but the wind was so loud on their hoods and in the trees that he didn't bother with anything else; it could wait until they were in the relative safety of the truck. The gale almost tore the door out of his hand as he hauled it open, and he was glad Tony was on the leeward side; it took all of his hard-won muscles to close it again. 

"Holy shit, that-- where'd that come from?" Tony said, panting, once they were safely closed in and the roar of wind muffled by vehicle.

"I don't know, it's been mild for a while, coming up from the south." Steve muttered, leaning forwards over the steering wheel to peer up into the clouds. A particularly strong gust rocked them on the suspension slightly and Steve did not like the feel of that; a vehicle like this should easily weigh a couple of tons. 

Stark joined him in glaring up at the weather. "Can we drive in this, on the kind of roads we took to get here?" His face twisted in displeasure, the deep, unnatural, twilight making his exact expression hard to figure out. 

"We shouldn't," Steve agreed, watching as he stripped off his gloves and fished around in his sleeve for something then relaxed slightly. Steve spotted a glint of gold and silver around his wrist. "We gotta get away from the oaks though, and maybe it'll ease off."

Tony agreed, as long as Steve wasn't planning on taking them down any switchbacks while the visibility was so low, and Steve put the truck into gear. They crawled along, giving the truck time to settle back to the ground after each lump and bump and peering out the ice-blurred windshield. They were losing the light, thick cloud cover turning afternoon into dusk. The headlights weren't much use either, the wind was full of ice crystals, ground up snowflakes and treefall. Steve put them on low beam, trying to light the road without turning the air into an impenetrable fog.

The truck rocked as they pulled out onto the track proper and the slope to their left dropped away, exposing them to the wind. The refrozen snow blowing off the trees peppered the vehicle, making it ping and clatter.

“Alright, here we go!” Steve yelled over the racket. Tony nodded, bracing himself against the dash as they trundled down the track. The truck took it like a champ, its first gear growling against the howl of the wind, and he popped up to second. Hail swirled around them, hitting the driver’s side then renewing its attack on the passenger side once it was done. The windshield wipers tossed most of it off the glass, but there was a build up starting on the top left, a rime of ice characteristic of rain falling through super cooled air. Not all of it was hitting them already frozen.

Steve knew the roads well, but not even he could remember every pothole and they jounced into one with the left front tire, jerking him against the wheel. The truck bounced on its shocks, wind catching at its underbelly and making the jolt threefold. Steve’s knuckles creaked inside his gloves with the effort of keeping himself steady. Tony managed better, one hand braced on the door and the other on the dash, but they still shared a grimace. He slowed down, coaxing the back wheel over the hole, but they couldn’t travel the whole route at this speed; they wouldn’t get back to the lodge until _Easter._

He cautiously pressed the accelerator, until the roaring wind grabbed the car again as they bumped over a fallen branch. He held fast, spine jolting and teeth clenched to protect his tongue.

Same with the back wheels, the howling wind exaggerated the bump-bounce, threatening to make them skid on the packed snow and ice. Steadily, Steve got a feel for the way the wind was interacting with the terrain and the truck settled more firmly into the tracks, but it took every inch of his focus.

They crawled around a hairpin turn, the brakes working hard to keep their speed low as they hit a downhill stretch, and hailstones the size of a quarter hit the side of the truck. Tony leaned forwards and looked up, grimacing.

“What’s it look like?” Steve asked, eyes on the road, trying to gauge the size of an upcoming bump. 

“Visibility is no better up than it is across, so who knows. It’s dark though. Thick. The hail’s coming around the ridge in _sheets._” 

“Shit,” Steve grumbled. It was probably settling in to blow his forest to pieces. “The road should stay clear, but I don’t exactly want to hang around to find out.”

“Get us back, Steve. I trust you.” 

Steve gaped and looked away from the road for a _second_, just a second. The branch hit the front bumper, knocking them a foot sideways and taking out the left headlight in a flash of sparks. He hit the brakes, the truck turning-- he didn’t have control, they were spinning, getting them side-on to the wind-- The branch turned end over end, the brush end catching the wind and flipping the half-ton of wood towards the car--

“GET DOWN!” 

The branch hit the roof with a deafening _boom_ and Steve abandoned the wheel to pull Tony down. The windshield cracked and the roof caved in a screech of tortured steel. A shard of something, wood or steel, scraped across Steve’s forehead, a white hot line of pain. Wood and ice scraped overhead, screeching like a banshee until the wind caught the branch and tore it back off the roof, a black blur in the darkness. 

Breathing hard, Steve kicked the truck into first gear, hands shaking, and turned them back into the wind until the car stopped lurching.

“Tony,” He glanced down, then back out at the storm, adrenalin gripping him. “Tony!” Tony was hunched over the gearshift, face hidden and hand clutching his opposite shoulder.

“I’m fine! Go, Steve! Get us out of the woods!” 

Teeth gritted, Steve put his foot down.

They bounced, but he was willing to risk it now. There was a cleared field nearby, they had to get there before the windshield blew out; cracks spider webbed across it from the dented roof, the high pitched ‘_chink!’_ noise cutting through the storm roar.

* * *

_Shit._

The roof was caved in, about six inches, and wind howled in through a gap the size of his fist torn in the steel. The windshield had spiderwebbed halfway across the right side, and it was still spreading. And... something was wrong with his shoulder. He-- god, he had no idea, it’d happened so damn fast, something’d hit him, hard and sharp on the back of his shoulder as he’d ducked. A thick, throbbing ache spread from shoulder blade to bicep and back to collarbone. Each jolt of wind, every bump in the road made it scream. He braced himself back against the chair and pressed his other hand over his shoulder, pinning it to the padding and taking some of the ache out. 

_Jhesus fuck._

Steve had blood oozing from a cut on his forehead, and kept shooting glances at him, and at the spiderwebbing cracks in the glass-- they were so fucked. That glass went and they’d be driving blind and freezing to death.

“I’m okay, keep driving!” Tony repeated. 

Steve’s jaw bunched and he nodded, swiping at the blood with the back of one glove. “Brace yourself; I have to turn side on to the wind.” 

“Just go!” Tony yelled back, just as another branch hurtled past from the slope above, gouging into the road in front. Stray bits of bark and smaller branches were peppering the car, clattering and thumping almost as often as the sharper _clang_ of the ice.

They turned off the route Tony recognized, pushing the engine against the wind and feeling the tires slide sideways underneath them. Steve swore unintelligibly, growling, and put his foot down. They lurched and the back tires bit hard into the ice, propelling them over a slick, hard patch and onto proper road. He jerked back down into first, engine growling back at him for it, and Tony screwed his eyes shut as the jolting shook his shoulder. The burning ache was settling in his shoulder blade, hot and dull, like he’d been-- hit by a truck. He groaned.

His lovely, damped suspension carried them across another wheel-rut, and the wind died a little, enough that he could hear his engine straining against the freezing air temperatures. He lifted his head and looked out, squinting past the building ice and spreading cracks in the windshield. Out the passenger side window, a rock face reared up overhead, unforgivingly black in the storm twilight, but solid and over hanging_._

Steve, one eye closed as a thread of blood dripped down into his eyebrow, parked up as close as he could get to the stone, hands hard on the wheel even after he’d tucked them up close to the shelter. The visibility was so poor, Tony couldn’t see anything on the open side, and he hoped that meant they were well away from any trees that might drop icy, wooden death onto his hood. 

“Leave the engine running, she’ll freeze up in this,” he advised. Steve twitched and nodded, putting the truck in neutral and shutting off the remaining headlight on autopilot. “Thanks. Side benefit; we can keep the heat on.”

Slowly, like he’d frozen in place, Steve peeled his fingers off the steering wheel.

It wasn’t warm, but it was still a solid ten degrees warmer than outside. Water trickled in through the crack between windshield and roof, where the branch had buckled everything to shit. The wind chose that moment to howl past and rock the truck forwards onto its front suspension, and the cracked glass creaked warningly. They needed to do some serious duct tape work.

“Your head--”

“Just a nick, doesn’t count as a head injury. You okay?”

Tony grimaced. “Shoulder’s fucked, somehow. Nothing we can do until this shit dies down, anyway.”

“I’m going to radio into the Rangers,” Steve said over the renewed crash of ice against the windshield as the wind lashed and swirled around them, looking for a way in. “Tell them we’re going to refuge up here and wait it out.”

Tony gripped his seatbelt and struggled to unclip himself enough to rummage for his phone, which had satellite capabilities. “You get radio coverage out here?” he asked incredulously. The hills were big and rolling, full of ravines, and wet foliage had to be an ass on radio signals.

“I had a booster put in. I employ fifty people out here when the logging starts.” He fished a radio out of one of the many zipper pockets in his coat, fumbling with his glove until he gave in and pulled it off with his teeth. “Cap Steve calling Tower; Cap Steve calling Tower. Return from survey in sector Four-Two delayed by bad weather, requesting forecast update. Over.”

Steve waited a patient fifteen seconds and they both listened to the hiss of white noise, before he repeated himself. 

Tony turned to his phone, vaguely hoping it would have signal, but to no avail. His weather data had last updated about an hour ago, showing the storm on the edge of the territory. He expanded the data set, skimming actual numbers for trends, and spotted a jet stream a hundred miles north that had shifted from its annual average, but he couldn’t factor in what that meant without uplink to more comprehensive models. 

“Steve!” The radio spat and hissed with interference, but the words were audible. “Tower here, forecast is for thermal inversion, repeat; thermal inversion. Amber warnings for; snow, ice, and freezing rain. Over.” 

“Reading you, Betty. Copy; snow, ice, freezing rain. We’re holed up in sector Three-Seven until visibility conditions improve; injury on board, vehicle is damaged. Repeat; injury on board and vehicle is damaged. Do we have an ETA on better weather? Over.”

“Shit, Steve, we’-- --clear the antenna, build up of snow seems to be sl-- --a bit. ETA si-- --er.” 

Steve swore under his breath as the radio hissed and spat. “Repeat, Tower. Say again; ETA on better weather. Over.” 

“Sixteen hours, repeat, six-- --urs. Over.” 

Tony’s heart sank; he wasn’t supposed to ever be more than six hours away from a hospital, Pepper was going to kill him. He had enough medication to last that long, though. His shoulder gave a throb of pain in protest, a muscle spasming somewhere and making his arm burn from bicep to collarbone, _fuck_.

He took a steadying breath and calculated the fuel consumption of running the heat in his head. 

“Copy, Tower, sixteen hours. We’ll see you then.” The radio stayed silent, no response. They’d lost the connection.

“Is that your professional assessment?” Tony managed, through gritted teeth. His shoulder throbbed again, an ominous wet heat spreading down his back. _Fuck._

Steve looked across the gearshift at him, but Tony kept on staring out the windshield, watching the ice bounce off the glass. It was getting dark, but without the headlights he could just about make out the blue glow of twilight overhead, somewhere. 

“There aren’t any emergency vehicles that can travel in this. Sorry. Let me take a look at your shoulder?”

Tony turned away, putting his back to Steve, but his shoulder bumped against the back of the chair and he had to stop, cursing.

“Just... lean forwards. Yeah.” 

Tony put his good arm on the dashboard and rested his head on it while Steve tugged at his parka. He didn’t know what Steve expected to see though three layers of suit and the jacket, but the tugging hurt. 

“Oh, okay. Uh...”

“What is it, Rogers, spit it out.”

“You’re bleeding. Right through your jacket.” 

Tony shuddered and took a deep breath. “Well shit. I’m on warfarin, blood thinner.” He could bleed out from a fucking papercut if his doctor was to be believed. He wasn’t willing to take the chance that it was an exaggeration. “I have a shitty heart. The warfarin stops it throwing a clot into my brain.”

Tony fumbled under his chin, head resting on the dash, and opened the glove box. First aid kit. He shoved it in Steve’s direction, but Steve fumbled it. 

“Are you-- I-- getting down the mountain in this weather is dangerous, we could-- another tree, or the freezing rain--” 

“Steve. If we need to ride it out, that’s what we do. Driving in this... way riskier.” 

“Okay... we wait for the light in the morning. Fuck.” 

Tony kept his eyes closed, breathing shallowly through the pain, while Steve rattled about and swore at the kit. 

“I’m gonna have to just... rip this. Okay?” 

Tony swallowed to dry his mouth and clenched his jaw. “Go for it. Quick, yeah? While there’s still car-crash adrenaline in my system.” 

“Yeah, sorry, not everyday my trees try to kill me.”

“Oh, is that what happened?” Tony wheezed. Steve dug his fingers into the jacket, tugging at his shoulder until the fabric tore with an abrupt release of tension. His legs jerked up towards his belly at the pain, and he swore in protest.

“Well, the freezing water is heavy enough that, yeah. It’s not safe to be out here. Last time, almost all the roads had to be manually...cleared...” He slowed down, his glove-warm fingers bracketing the epicenter of the pain. 

“Spit it out, how bad?” he gritted out, rubbing his eyes on his sleeve. The naked skin of his shoulder was chilling quickly, the cold spreading with the pain into his chest and down his arm. 

A pad of something soft --and Tony really hoped it was sterile too-- pressed against his shoulder and he bit on his sleeve to try not to make too much noise. “You’ll be fine. It’s. Just a flesh wound?”

Tony groaned into the dash and suppressed a laugh. It would probably have been hysterical and painful anyway. Healing qualities of laughter _his shiny ass. _ “You fuckin’ nerd. Seriously?” 

“Just let me...” Steve worked a hand around to Tony’s front, pressing on his collar bone, then squeezing his shoulder between his palms. “Yeah. Great movie, won’t hear a bad word about it. You’re gonna be okay, Mr. Stark.”

Tony couldn’t breathe through this shit, not with the pressure where it was, and he settled for shallow pants of frigid air. Steve was a fucking bastard, that’s what. “Are you...a sadist? You fucker, this is...really painful.” 

“Ah. Yeah, Sorry... It’s not gonna clot on its own. Not in this cold.”

“Not in any weather. I don’t mean to...” He steeled himself against a fresh intensity of burn as Steve shifted. “...whine, but fuck you man.” 

He meant it as a joke, tried to twist his mouth into a wry grin but Steve didn’t see it. 

“I’m real sorry, Mr Stark. This should never have happened.” 

“What, you god of the weather now? The fuck do you think you could have done?” 

Steve sighed, a plume of white that had lost its warmth by the time it passed Tony. “Still. My insurance’ll pay for treating this, I promise.” 

“That’s... nice of ‘em.” Tony shifted so he could look out at the storm. The noise had died down to a wetter drumming, more like rain than hail. Shit. “Steve, look.” 

The hands on his shoulder shifted enough to make him feel it, then went still. 

“Fuck.” 

“Yeah.” The rain was freezing where it landed, in bulbous lumps and sheets. The tear in the roof had stopped leaking, an icicle starting to form where the branch had pierced it.

“Where’s the air intake for the engine?” 

“On the hood, no snorkel. She’s gonna choke pretty quick.”

They sat in silence, listening to the thunder of the rain and the gentle rumble of the engine underneath. 

“I need to go out there. Get a tarp over the intake,” Steve muttered. Already his grip on Tony’s shoulder was loosening. A fresh trickle of wet, hot against his chilling skin, made its way to his armpit from his shoulder blade. 

“Yeah, you do. In about ten minutes. There’s a clotting agent, in the first aid kit. Little aluminum packet, closed with a bulldog clip.” 

Steve let go of the front of his shoulder and Tony gritted his teeth, holding himself up against the pressure with the arm on the dashboard. 

“Tony, this says it’s for nosebleeds, cuts and scrapes... I don’t think--” 

“It’s an _off label_ application, Steve. Just,” he swallowed, nausea creeping in. “Just dust it over, like sugar on a donut. Thick. Then bandage it up tight and go save my poor fucking car from icing into oblivion.” 

Steve did. 

Tony let himself go a bit, the deep burn of the powder swamping him. A pressure bandage, a sling keeping his shoulder steady, and the roar of his blood in his ears. The dim dash lights, the grey-blue storm light, faded into monochrome. Steve said something, a nice voice with all the rumbles in the right places, and Tony replied with a jumble of syllables that even he didn’t understand.

Then, there was a crack of breaking ice and a blast of freezing air as Steve got out of the cab and swung the door shut. 

Silver flashed over the hood, and the engine strained, intake blocked by the tarp. Tony dragged his head back into focus and he leaned over to turn it off before it could cough too much. They’d be able to start her up again, as long as that intake stayed clear. 

He hoped. 

The bandage padded his shoulder enough that he could slump in his seat and stare balefully up at the tear in the roof. The ice that’d filled it was melting and refreezing, creeping down the crack of the door and generating a rime of frost. The windscreen, now doubly obscured by cracks and ice, creaked and threatened to let go it's housing on the warped passenger side. He could just barely see Steve wrestling with the wind and tarp outside, pinning it in place with a length of cargo strap. He fumbled for the door handle, he had one good hand, he could help-- but the door was jammed, if the impact hadn’t warped it in place; the ice was already thick enough to trap him in his seat. His vision swam then, and he closed his eyes. He was cold, already, and the world felt distant and grey, the throbbing in his shoulder draining all his energy.

Steve crashed back into the cab on the driver's side, slamming the door closed before too much warmth escaped. The gush of ice cold air was enough to make Tony shiver, though, and that was painful enough to steal the air from his lungs for a second.

Steve was getting his gloves off when Tony opened his eyes again, fumbling with half-frozen slush. His hat was crunchy with ice, like out of a photo from the Antarctic, and he tossed it on the dash. It kept its head-shape. “I’m done. Let me take a look at your shoulder again?” 

“No, it’s fine--”

_“Stark.”_

“Christ, you sound like a parade sergeant, fine.” 

Steve shot him a worried grin, then tore off a great big strip of the duct tape he’d used to attach the tarp. 

“What the hell?” 

“I’m taping your jacket closed. It’s only going to get colder.” 

Tony groaned and leaned forwards to give him access. Steve’s grunt told him exactly nothing and then his jacket closed and the faint pressure of the tape sealed in his body heat. 

“Fuck me, th’s better.” 

“Good, because we’ve got to move around a bit. I’ve got three more mylar blankets, and a whole roll of tape. Think you can design me a tent, Mr. Engineer?” 

Tony shook some of the fog out of his head and craned his neck to look into the rear seats. If they had to wait out the freezing rain, they’d freeze to death. A more enclosed space would keep their body heat contained, make this bearable. “Sure, why not.” 

The back bench would make a decent huddle space; if they crowded together, they could make an enclosed pace and stay away from heat-sapping chassis of the truck. “Yeah, okay.” 

He got Steve to tape a blanket to the back of the bench seat, then to the roof, to make a ceiling. The second blanket they taped to the roof and let hang down to make a pitched tent shape. The side windows were iced condensation by this point so they closed off the ends with triangles cut out of excess. With all the seams taped, they’d be a lot warmer than just bundling up, though Tony hoped they’d do that too; he wanted closer to Steve’s body heat.

The last of the truck’s heat had leached out through the windows by then, their breath starting to burn in their throats. It was time to get into the damn tent. 

But, Tony’s shoulder was screaming at him, he wasn’t going to have a great time getting back there. He twisted around, got up on one knee, and eyed the gap between the two front seats. 

“Hey, Steve.” 

“Yeah. I’ll give you a hand. Can you get your foot there?” 

Steve pointed behind the transmission hump and Tony squinted dubiously.

“Fuck it, maybe.”

He wriggled around and did his best to protect his shoulder, and got most of his weight through the space before Steve’s giant, lumberjack grip had to catch him around the waist. The weight on his ribcage translated up and right through his injury, like a fucking bastard; of course it did. 

Tony bit his tongue on a scream and the world went dark for a few seconds. 

A second impact, softer this time, and sound rushed back; Steve’s voice all deep and reassuring, pressure on his shoulder keeping it still. 

“Breathe, Tony. You’re okay, it’s not bleeding.” 

He hauled an eye open, the other one following slowly and then dragging them both back down. Steve’d got him onto the back seat and they were all tangled together. The tent had fallen closed, dampening sound and already warmer than the open cab. The last blanket was crumpled over their legs, rustling as Steve got it wrapped around them. 

“...’m I in shock?” he managed, shifting to let Steve tuck the blanket around them. 

“I don’t know. Sorry.” 

“Hmmm...not your fault, I guess.” 

Some further shuffling and Steve lay down, pulling the blanket over their shoulders. Carefully. 

Tony, sandwiched between the bench back and a giant forest person, started to notice how cold he was by contrast.

“I wish I had some tea to give you, but...” Steve shifted like maybe he was shrugging. 

Tony let the thought roll around his fuzzy head, thinking about warm, sugary tea. Or coffee with a billion pumps of cream. “I have...snacks. Good for shock, snacks.” 

Tony went all warm when Steve chuckled. Hah. “In the tool box, compartment in the lid.” 

Steve rustled and leaned away, flipping a part of the tent up to rummage. Cold air poured in through the gap and Tony retreated into the blanket to escape. Ugh. The worst. 

He shivered and huddled in the dark, his shoulder complaining bitterly, until Steve reappeared and unfolded him back into appropriate heat-sharing configuration.

He buried his nose in Steve’s collar and ignored the rustling as Steve put the tent back together around them.

“Here.” Steve rattled a bag of chocolate covered blueberries and Tony grabbed a handful. It was awkward, with one arm bellowing in pain every time he moved, and all his weight on his good shoulder, so he shoved them all in his mouth at once. 

_Oh god, chocolate. Yes. _

Steve finished settling back in and Tony mumbled his appreciation through his mouthful and into Steve’s warm coat. 

“Cozy?”

“Yeah. Could do with an aspirin.” 

Steve tensed. “...sorry. This must just...” 

“Suck? Yeah.” Tony would have shrugged, but he was in too much pain. 

* * *

Shivering eventually became unnecessary, the tent trapping enough warm air to keep them breathing comfortably. Steadily, Tony released the tension in his back, then legs, and finally relaxed into the warm closeness. The pain in his shoulder had stopped growing at some point, and his heart was thumping along at a more normal speed.

Sleep, however, was distant. The car was creaking and shifting under the weight of ice build-up and wind. Steve must have known a few things because the tarp protecting the air intake was snapping and thumping, but not taking off into the night.

“You seem...remarkably unphased," Tony commented. 

Steve shifted next to him, a trickle of fresher air invading their little haven. “I'm ex-military. I know how much the human body can take.” 

“Even a shitty one?”

“Even a shitty one, Mr. Stark.”

Tony grumbled, irritable. “The car can take it,” Tony said, not wanting to look too closely at that. “Tough as nails.”

“There you go, nothing to worry about.” 

The car rocked violently on its suspension. 

“Oh for god's sake, this is ridiculous. Twenty fucking eighteen and this is what I get? Duct tape and chocolate blueberries. I demand at least a superstorm! Or a fire tornado. Life has some making up to do, that's for sure.”

Steve laughed at him in the dark, a low grumble of genuine amusement and a puff of warm air against his face. “If you want to blame global warming for this, you could. Proxy-blame Big Oil.” 

Tony grinned. “Imma sue BP. This jacket was a hundred bucks.” 

He felt a vague pressure over his elbow, then a poke; Steve testing the jacket. “This is a very nice poof-level, can't deny it.”

Tony shuffled into a more comfortable position, trying to keep his shoulder nice and stable. Not completely painless, but Tony gritted his teeth and weathered it. He shuffled his trapped but un-hurt hand in an attempt to get the foil blanket up over his shoulder, but failed miserably. “Would you...?”

“Uh, sure. Like this?” Steve tucked it closer, managing to cut off the draught. 

“Perfect. It-- it really fucking hurts, but I think--” 

Steve huffed; a weird sound that wasn’t a laugh but wasn’t derisive either. “Don’t finish that thought, you’ll jinx us. You’re going to be fine.” 

“Oh, so you can say it, but I can’t?” Tony grouched.

“Yup, exactly. You’ll get the hang of it in no time.” Steve made some rustling in the dark and offered the snacks again. Tony took an awkward handful of chocolate, wondering vaguely if the injunction against food after an injury applied to needing fuel for calories in the cold. There must be an equation, where the risk of... whatever happened if you threw up while sedated for surgery was plotted statistically against the curve of on-board calorie depletion, with a modification for relative danger of complications. 

He, nose chilly despite the tent, ate the goddamn blueberries. 

Tony pondered the rattle of hail on the roof while he chewed, which had replaced the ominous splatter of supercooled water. “Sounds like the inversion finished.” 

“We can hope. No guarantee. The winds are pretty twisty in the mountains." They listened to the hail rattle against the side window, then against the roof again as a gust sent the car shivering on her springs.

The rustle of fabric marked Steve shifting in the dark. "You should try and sleep. I’ll keep an eye on the weather,” the ‘and you’ was unspoken, “and wake you up if I think we can move again.” 

“I can try.” Tony could see the logic, there wasn’t much risk of sleep-hypothermia now and he’d really like to sleep through the pain. He just wasn’t sure it was possible. 

He shut his eyes, put his head down on the leather and breathed. The wobbling and jouncing was definitely calming down, the springs were barely rocking now. He was infinitely grateful for the suspension work he’d done; with all the bouncing and road debris, they’d have been much worse off without the dampers. His poor car though, new roof, new side panels, and who knew how much damage done to the forward quarter, where the branch had hit first. He shifted without thinking, going to tuck his bad hand towards his chest because it was cold, and had to grit his teeth through a gut wrenching wave of pain. He pressed his temple against the leather and breathed in the smell of oil and workshop that must have come off his toolbox. Poor, poor car; expecting to be a billionaire's toy and getting Tony instead. 

“Here, let me.” 

Steve, apparently much more able to see than Tony was, slid his hands around Tony’s bad one. The warmth helped him relax it, at least, and Steve took some of the awkward weight off his shoulder. Steve chafed it slightly, pinched one of his fingernails to check his blood flow, then tucked it into the neck of his coat, against his pulse point. 

His hands had been warm, but his direct body heat was like a bonfire. Tony’s fingers flexed in a relieved shiver and he had to very deliberately relax to avoid tickling Steve too much. 

“Thank you,” he said, barely managing to say it at all. 

Steve said nothing, but he did give Tony’s wrist a gentle squeeze.

Okay then. 

Tony let his head loll down, pushed away any stressed thoughts, and tried to sleep. 

* * *

It wasn’t a ‘flesh wound’. 

Tony’s shoulder was a mess, a deep score from the meat of his shoulder backwards to the shoulder blade. Whatever health problems he had going on, the pain and blood loss were much, much more dangerous than they would be for a normal person; the way his lips had gone pale, and the corner of his eyes-- Steve was seeing it, and he wasn’t liking it. The clotting powder seemed to have worked, but he’d finished the packet to cover the wound, and not thickly like Tony had instructed; the injury was just too big. 

Steve wasn’t sure if the man was asleep or unconscious, but he was breathing steadily into the scant inches between them, and that had to be enough. There was nothing Steve could do except hope the rest and stillness helped. 

He kept himself awake for the first half of the night without much effort. Tony's injury was worrying enough to keep him topped up on adrenaline, and the storm was loud and constantly changing.

Around midnight, seven hours after they were supposed to get off the mountain, the hail finally stopped for good.

Soon after, the wind dropped to a steady roar, still driving the snow, but not strong enough to nudge the car. 

Steve took the opportunity to click on the torch and pull the collar of Tony’s coat open. The meagre pressure bandage from the kit was designed for minor injury, it barely covered the messy tear. The dark soaking of blood didn’t look bigger than it had before... but the bruise was spreading out from under it, dark red and worrying.

Reassured by Tony's breathing and warm fingers, Steve settled into a half-doze: his ears were still attentive, but his eyes were closed and heart rate calmer. Once upon a time, he'd been able to do this with his whole body, waiting for orders to move, to hide, whatever might come down the pipeline. Discharge had made him soft though; his legs were fast asleep.

Every few hours, he roused himself enough to check on Tony. Checking the bandage was tricky and the engineer almost woke up at the draft of cold air, but Steve tucked close and sheltered his face from the torchlight. It was enough, apparently, and Tony drifted back to deep, unmoving sleep. 

Dawn wouldn’t come until eight in the morning, and the sun wouldn’t rise over the mountain here for another three hours after that... But the sun wouldn't show if the storm clouds where overhead anyway. 

By seven am, Steve was jittery and anxious: Tony’s fingers were cold, and no amount of cuddling up to him had made a difference. 

Steve fished out the radio and tried Betty, hoping the antenna hadn’t iced over. 

“Betty? It’s Steve. How’re conditions? Over.” He clicked off, holding the handset to his forehead with his metaphorical fingers crossed.

The radio hissed into life and he fumbled it, almost dropping it between them. 

“Steve! Good to hear you’re alive! Conditions are improving, winds are down to two-zero with gusts at three-five. Radar and doppler are clear, percentage precipitation is down to near nothin’. How’s your casualty?” 

Steve felt a wash of relief; they could start moving again, as soon as the light broke. “I have concerns. The bleeding is under control, but we need medevac.” 

Betty clicked her channel open, but took a moment to start speaking. “I... the helo isn’t going up any time soon, Steve. Freezing rain got the depo good.” 

Steve didn’t bother to open the channel while he swore, and Tony opened one dark eye at him, dazed. 

“Sorry, Mr. Stark. Just working on getting us down the mountain. We have to drive at least part way.” He clicked the radio. “Copy that, I’ll get us to the cabin and... we’ll go from there,” he told Betty, trying not to sound too worried.

“Good luck Steve. Godspeed.” 

The radio went quiet, leaving them alone with the moaning wind and rattle of their mylar tent.

Tony's eyes drifted back closed, and Steve hunkered down, shivering and crowding close to Tony's cool body. His bad hand, still tucked against Steve where he could try and keep it warm, was cold and clammy. 

"Mr Stark?" 

Tony didn't stir, and they had an hour before they would be able to see anyway... But fear clawed at him. 

"Tony? Please wake up?" 

Tony took a deeper breath, and his hand twitched in Steve's palm. Steve squeezed it gently, rubbing his thumb across his knuckles. 

Slowly, Tony's eyes drifted open, barely focused in the dim light. Steve had the torch pointed at the ceiling, and Tony's eyes tracked to the shiny mylar blanket. He blinked, then their eyes met and Steve managed to breathe again. 

"G'morning Mr. Stark, how're you doing?" 

Tony snuffled and his eyes scrunched up in pain. Steve's heart wrenched at that. In service, they'd had morphine in their kits; here, all he had was aspirin. He felt Tony shuffle his legs in the blanket, their boots bumping together. 

"Need to take my medication. Hurts, cold. I feel...heavy." 

Steve tensed up, deeply worried but not really wanting Tony to notice. "Do you have water in this thing? I'll get it for you. Where are your pills?" 

Tony fumbled his good hand out of the blankets, a small bracelet dangling from his wrist. Steve released his other hand, hand feeling empty and cold without it. 

Moving even that much made Tony's face go green, but he ploughed on and opened the bracelets charm. A strip of tiny pills fell out into his shaky palm. 

"Don't need water. Could drink though." 

He popped one out and tucked it under his tongue. 

"You're probably dehydrated, the air is so dry." 

Tony's gaze went a little sharper and he quirked a grin, held close between them. "And there's the blood loss."

Steve grunted, unwilling to think about it. 

"If it's not frozen, it's in the rucksack. Under the seat." 

Steve pulled away from him, cold air stabbing between them and making all the hair on Steve's body rise on end. Outside the tent, his breath fogged white instantly, and his cheeks prickled with cold. 

"Fucking hell... Glad we taped the seams--" Tony's voice cut off with a groan.

"Sorry, Mr. Stark."

"It's Tony, Steve. I don't want to--" 

Steve didn't get to hear the rest, because Tony choked on it, gasping. Steve tore the tent back open, heart in his throat. Tony had turned onto his back and had his hand clamped over his shoulder, face white as the ice in the blast of harsh light from the torch. 

He grinned up at Steve, shaking and unconvincing. "Shifted wrong. I'm fine."

Steve didn't believe him for a second, but he let it drop and hung the mylar blanket up on the back of the bench. 

Outside, the sky was starting to lighten, and the warped, bulging lens of the iced up windshield threw it into strange shapes. He dug the rucksack out and there was a bottle of water inside, hard as a rock.

"Shit. Sorry Tony, it's frozen solid." He squeezed the bottle to test the thickness of the ice, but it creaked without breaking. "I should have thought of it sooner. Idiot," he muttered to himself, twisting into the driver's seat and propping the bottle in the drinks holder next to Tony's insulated coffee mug.

Wait.

He picked up the mug and gave it a shake. Hah! A half mug of coffee sloshed about the bottom, kept from freezing by the insulation. 

"Hey, there's coffee. We're half way to civilization." 

Tony gave him a stink eye, but beckoned for the coffee. Steve looked at him consideringly, and didn't hand it over yet. 

"You'll need to sit up, gonna need a hand-- oh shit, you didn't just take more warfarin did you?"

Tony gave him a look that matched Natasha for scathing. "Yes, I just took an anti-clotting agent with an almost-untreated open wound. No, that was my heart medication, I'm skipping the warf."

Steve felt the blush creep up his neck. "Just checking. I'm gonna ...go check the engine." 

The door was stiff with ice, creaking and popping as he put more and more force into it. Steady, measured pressure until _bang!_, and the door flew open. A rush of fresh, freezing air buffeted him and he lunged forward to keep the door from bouncing back closed. 

"Fuck me, I thought it was cold in here."

Steve huffed a laugh but didn't reply and slid out of the driver's door. The snow was blown deep against the vehicle on this side, between the truck and the rock wall, and it came up to his knees for the first few yards. He waded around to the front and to his relief, the snow was much shallower on the far side, and he could even see the wheels. They weren't buried, at least. The wind had scraped it away, leaving just the crust of ice from the freezing rain. The sweep of his torchlight didn't go far across the clearing, the brilliant white and dark blues of predawn snow were dazzling and confusing to the eye. Overhead, the sky was breathtakingly clear; a diamond studded darkness. When he clicked the torch off and let his eyes adjust, there she was; the milky way, splashed across the heavens in a hundred thousand pin[ricks of light. It was starting to brighten in the east, though, and the show would be over soon... it was too cold to stand and stare, though. He'd have a better view of the landscape by the time the car was warmed back up and functional, and they could start back down the trails. 

The tarp over the hood was thick with ice and snow and when he unlashed the edge nearest him, it didn’t so much as flap. Frozen solid. He peeled up the edge and the whole ice sheet groaned and creaked as it lifted in one, solid cast of the car underneath. For one very satisfying second, it came up whole and eerily perfect, but then it snapped down the middle with a loud crack. 

Muttered swearing from inside caught Steve’s ear, and he pitched the tarp off the hood so he could stick his head back into the truck to check on Tony. 

“Note to self; don’t jump at sudden noises,” Tony reported, staring balefully at the ceiling and still bundled in the crinkly blanket. 

“Yeah, sorry. I can imagine that’s...pretty sore.”

Tony told him to go fuck himself, good naturedly.

“Sir, yes Sir.” He went back to the hood. The air vent was clear, and a brief kick at the snow around the tyres told him they could pull away on the chains without having to dig, thank fuck. He shook as much of the snowdrift off his boots as he could, and climbed back into the drivers side. 

“Fingers crossed,” he muttered, and turned the engine. 

“Blasphemy. She’ll start.” 

The engine coughed to life obediently, and cold air blew out of the heater vents. There was a flurry of rustling and cold induced swearing from the back bench as the air blasted Tony. “Oh shoot, one second...” He turned the fan off, and looked over the back. Tony was ruffled and pale, clutching the insulated coffee mug with dogged determination. 

“It’ll be actual heat soon, and I’ll turn it back on. Hang in there, okay?” 

Tony huffed and closed his eyes. “Of course. I’ve survived worse.” 

The hair on the back of Steve’s neck prickled unpleasantly. "We'll be down in an hour, looks like," he continued. "The snow isn't deep. Downed trees are harder, but I try and keep old growth away from the main roads, to keep spring cleanup easy." 

The windshield was thoroughly broken and there was a whole array of warning lights on the dash, blinking away at him. He couldn't make sense of half of them; his truck had a fuel gauge and a speedometer and that was the extent of the display options. He was lucky if the backlight worked, most days. He could only hope Tony's truck could still drive.

Rustling and crinkling of blankets drew his attention and he turned to Tony. 

"I'm coming up front. Potholes and snowdrifts would be shit lying down." Tony hauled himself grimly upright, and twisted through the gap between the seats. Steve helped as best he could, but it was 50-50 whether that helped or hurt. 

With Tony gone white and limp in the bucket seat, he really couldn't tell. The sling was still in place at least, but Steve had to buckle his seatbelt for him. Reaching over, Steve felt just a touch of Tony's body heat, and that was at least comforting. 

With the engine purring and warmed up, he started the heater back up. Warm air blasted out of the vents and Tony groaned. They both put their fingers to the vent, hot air blowing into their gloves. They shared a relieved grin. 

"God that's nice. Not that your body heat wasn't delightful," Tony said with hint of flirtatious fizz. "But real heat is to die for." 

Steve's laugh was a bit forced, choking him a little. Tony didn't look alive enough to be making that sort of joke. But there was no use worrying him, Steve would get them off the plantation and there would be an ambulance and real pain medicine and hopefully an easy drive to the hospital.

"Ready to go?" 

Tony sat back and adjusted his sling with a wan smile. "Yeah. Take it away, Steve." 

Steve popped into gear and wound the steering wheel all the way right, so they wouldn't foul on their own snowdrift. The truck heaved forward, and started to swing around, the snow berming just off the hood. Slowly did it... And there, the berm dropped away and the vehicle was free of the little drift. 

Between the headlights and the slowly lifting twilight, Steve had a reasonably good view of the road, and he navigated the logging clearing towards it. The ruts and potholes left from last year's work made for a rough ride, so Steve kept glancing across at his passenger.

Tony was gripping the seat with his good hand and pale as milk. Each jostle made his breath catch, and Steve's stomach cramped in empathy. He slowed to a near crawl, letting the car roll at below five miles an hour. The potholes would be easier on the main road, he promised himself. 

"Okay?" 

Tony glanced across at him, grimacing. "I'll survive it. Just... nice and steady." 

Steve's knuckles creaked on the steering wheel, and he nudged her over another frozen rut. One last bump...

He pulled out onto the relatively smooth snow-covered road and turned for home. Dawn was creeping up faster now, the landscape turning blue and white around them, and Steve could finally see the road beyond his headlights. He gingerly picked up speed and pulled his radio out. 

“Steve to tower, come in?” 

The airwaves hissed emptily for a long moment, then crackled alive. “Steve! Clint, Thor and Betty reporting in. All clear, here. How’s your guest?” 

“We’re alive, could do with that ambulance. ETA to the cabin, one hour.” He glanced over at Tony to find him rolling his eyes. He let go of the mic button for a second. “You, don’t complain. You bleed like a pig.” 

“Super not my fault, you sasquatch,” he grumbled, staring out of the crusty window as if he could see anything through the ice and cracks. 

“He’s cogent and stable, but better safe than sorry, over.” 

The radio hissed and Clint came back. “We can have someone there before you. They’ve been on alert since you called it in, so they’ve been keeping an engine hot for you.” 

Relief settled on Steve’s shoulders, warm and calming. “Great. That's... Good job, Clint.” 

“Anytime, asshole. Drive safe, tower Out.” 

He put the radio back in his pocket and returned both hands to the wheel while he rounded a corner at a careful ten miles an hour. 

“Tell me something, Steve.” 

Steve glanced away from the snow for a second, quizzically. “Tell you what?” 

Tony’s fist was clenched in the fabric of his pants and his face was tight with pain. Steve swallowed and looked back to the road, mentally promising painkillers as soon as they got down the trail.

“I don’t know. Do you have a dog?” 

Understanding dawned; Tony just needed a distraction. “No dog. The guy on the radio, Clint? He’s got Lucky, the most unlucky dog in the state. He’s a really good boy, though, unlike his dad.” 

“The foulmouthed radio operator? Shocker. Unlucky?” Tony turned to look at Steve instead of staring out of the obscured window, and Steve was gonna take that as a good sign. 

“He lost an eye and a leg, so, yeah. Unlucky. But then Clint found him, and he recovered just fine, and is the stinkiest friendliest dog ever to walk the ranger’s path? So he’s lucky, too.” 

Tony hummed approvingly. “I’m glad I didn’t bring Dummy. He doesn’t like the cold.” 

“What kinda dog is he?” Steve prompted, curious, but also needing to focus on the road for a second. 

“Border collie. He’s...He’s so stupid, Steve, oh my god, that dog. But...” 

“But dogs. Yeah, I get it. You gonna go see him soon.” 

“He thinks glass doors are a... a... collective hallucination? And that if he just tries enough times, he’ll be able to get through.” Tony hid his face in his glove for a second, and Steve’s heart lurched a bit. Tony was...exhausted, hurt, and obviously really wished he’d brought his dog. 

“He will fetch you anything though. You don’t get to choose _what_, but he’ll fetch it. The TV remote ends up in bed nine mornings out of ten.” 

Steve cracked a smile, laughing. “Sounds like good boy behaviour to me.” 

“Yeah... yeah he’s... Pep’ll bring him,” Tony trailed off into a mumble, hand finally relaxed on his leg as the road leveled out a bit. “Bring him to meet me.” 

Steve risked another glance over, worried by how tired Tony sounded now. “Who’s Pep?” 

Tony snuffled and lifted his head. “My PA, part of her job to keep Dummy happy. Hires him walkers when I’m away. Gives him tennis balls.” 

“Sounds like a nice job, I’d do that job for free.” 

Tony waved a hand across the transmission column and bapped Steve vaguely on the bicep. “No, bad Steve. Proper compensation is important.” 

His words were starting to slur, and Steve’s grip on the steering wheel started to creak. 

“Sure it is, Tony. I’m just saying I’d like to have a dog around here more often, yeah?” 

Tony hummed, eyes halfway closed and looking out the half-obscured windshield. “I’ll bring him to visit. I can visit right?”

“That’d be great! Yeah, any time! Bring me some more of that delicious coffee, yeah?” Steve peered anxiously through the landscape, trying to judge how far they were from help, and spotted the crooked red fur; only a mile and change left. 

“Sure. It’s a date. Coffee and petting.” 

Steve winced and nodded. “Yep, absolutely. Sounds like a really lovely way to spend a Sunday, don’t you think?” 

Tony didn’t respond this time, just nodding slowly.

“Hey, Tony? Can you stay awake please? I need you to stay upright.” 

Tony’s head shook slowly from side to side. “I know...can’t. Nearly there?” 

“We are. You can lie down when we get back, okay? But you need to stay upright for now.” 

The road turned and Steve eased through the bend, but Tony slipped sideways anyway, hand limp. He struggled to pull himself back upright, and once he had, had to rest his head back against the seat. The heater had brought all the colour back to Steve’s cheeks; he could feel them glowing, but Tony was still the colour of the snow outside. 

“Okay. Hang in there a little bit longer, Tony. We’re nearly there.” 

He rounded the last corner, and there, at the end of the avenue was an ambulance, lights wheeling in the early morning light. 

“Look, Tony: got you some help. Pain meds, warm blankets, you’ll feel better in no time.” 

“Yeah... ‘kay. Hot coffee?” 

Steve didn’t tell him no, the doctors wouldn’t give him coffee, because who was he to pop that bubble right now? “Sure. Get you all warmed up.” 

Tony stopped responding. 

His eyes closed and stayed that way, and his head lolled sideways on the headrest. 

Steve’s hand shook on the wheel and he pushed the truck faster, eyes fixed on the uniformed medics tumbling out of the back of the ambulance to meet him. He pulled up as close as was safe and threw himself out of the drivers side. A medic met him at the passenger side and they had to rip the door out of the icy crust left by the freezing rain. The window shattered finally, and the warped chassis screamed as they put both their weight behind it. 

Steve reached in, eyes fixed on Tony’s face blank face, and unbuckled the seatbelt so he could lift him out. As soon as the strap loosened, Tony slumped forwards, tumbling into Steve’s arms. Badly positioned and unexpected, they slid towards the ground, multiple hands guiding their descent safely away from the car. 

The chair was red, from shoulder to seat. 

Tony’s jacket, under Steve’s palms, was wet and hot with blood, steaming in the icy dawn air. 

Tony suddenly felt very light, and very fragile. 

The medics were talking fast and hard, words like ‘tachy’ and ‘hypovolemic’ blurring past Steve’s ears.

“Mr Rogers? Can you lift him onto the stretcher please?” 

Steve nodded, numb, and got to his feet, Tony dangling from his arms. The medics guided him down onto the stretcher, and an oxygen mask appeared, and then Tony was gone. Steve’s arms were empty. The stretcher they rushed into the back of the ambulance, and Steve stood in the snow, gloves slowly chilling as Tony’s blood started to freeze. 

He was jolted out of his daze by a hand on his arm, and they pulled him into the ambulance too.

Tony was lying curled on his side, jacket and shirt cut away, fresh bandages white and half hidden by the harsh blue of medics gloves while she applied pressure to stem the alarming amount of fresh, slick blood soaking Tony’s clothes. The oxygen mask, fogging and clearing with each breath, made a comforting focus point; alive, alive, alive. 

The ambulance pulled away, the driver calling out their ETA, and Steve steadied himself on the railing of the gurney. His wet glove left a thick red smear and he shuddered, peeling them off as fast as possible. They hit the floor, quickly forgotten. 

Tony’s mask slipped as they rolled over a bump, so Steve reached out to steady him, and from there, it felt very necessary to hold his good hand, to keep at least that bit of him warm. 

* * *

They made him stay behind when they got to the hospital. 

They handed him Tony’s stuff, made him sit in the waiting room, and took Tony away to ‘assessment’. 

He sat down on a bench and stared at the little bag of phone, wallet and keys. 

After a while of staring, a nurse called his name, and he had to go have his face washed. They told him that the cut on his head, which he had completely forgotten, didn’t need stitches, so he could go home if he wanted. 

He went back to the waiting room. 

At about eleven am, Tony’s phone rang.

Steve jumped almost out of his seat and scrambled to answer, dropping Tony’s wallet in the process. 

“Uh, hi. Hello?” He said, gingerly, pulling his head back to make sure he’d swiped the correct way.

“Oh! Um, hello, I think I have the wrong number, sor--” 

“No wait! Don’t hang up! This is Tony’s phone- Tony Stark. He uh... can’t answer right now?” Steve scrambled for the proper response, kicking himself for the awkward squeak in his voice. “Are you from the company?” 

“I--yes. Who am I speaking to, please?” 

“Steve Rogers, Ma’am, from the Woodland Management team.” 

“Oh, from the meeting, yesterday. I take it he didn’t make it back to town,” she said, voice amused and suggestive. Steve’s heart sank and his stomach quivered. 

“We’re in town, yes, ma’am. There was an accident, we--” He stopped and leaned his forehead against the back of the phone for a second. “We had to come to the hospital. He--” Steve choked and couldn’t say any more for a long moment. “He wanted his dog, ma’am.” 

He heard a rustle and a hard breath down the line, and then he was crying and had to cover his eyes with his hand. 

“I-- I’m his assistant, Pepper Potts,” she said, voice tight. “Where are you, exactly? I’ll be there as soon as-- Traffic permitting.” 

Steve rattled off the hospital name. 

“Okay. Great. I’ll be half an hour.” She paused, keyboard clattering in the background. “Okay. Tell me what happened.” 

The phone rustled and hissed with her movement and Steve shivered slightly with the relief that someone was coming. 

“The storm caught us out on the mountainside, it was-- freezing rain, I-- A tree hit us, the truck was... It tore through the passenger side. Tony got hit in the shoulder. Deep.” He paused to catch his breath, hand still fixed over his eyes. “Wood injuries are messy. There was a lot of blood, and--” 

“Did Tony tell you about his condition?” 

“Yes ma’am. I told the doctors what he said, and showed them his bracelet.” 

She sighed down the line. “Thank you, Mr Rogers, that’ll be a big help. Are you okay?” 

“I--” He choked and looked down at his hand, slightly rusty in the creases. “I wasn’t hurt. We had to stay in the car overnight, but we had emergency blankets, it was--” 

“Okay, Steve. Can I call you Steve?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“Steve; I want you to go get yourself a cup of something hot and something to eat, okay? I’ll meet you in the ER waiting room in half an hour. I’m going to ring the hospital now and give them access to Tony’s records.” 

Steve nodded, looking around for a vending machine vaguely. 

“Steve?” 

“Uh, yes! Sorry, I’ll do that. See you then.” 

“Okay. Look after yourself, Rogers.” 

The phone went quiet, and he was alone in the waiting room again. Or, almost alone; a woman was reading on her phone in the far corner, apparently unhurt. Across the hall, nurses were coming and going from the intake desk, and beyond that he could see gurneys moving around and doctors talking to patients laid up on them. The waiting room might be quiet, but the ER itself was buzzing. 

Tony wasn’t back there, though. They’d loaded him straight into an operating theatre. 

Steve felt the same black awfulness from before the phone call start to rise up, and went to follow his instructions. 

The vending machine had chocolate, and he was ravenous the moment he spotted it, so he fed the machine until he had three bars, then got himself a coffee.

* * *

Exhaustion warred with anxiety while he waited, even after Pepper arrived. 

She was a whirlwind compared to Steve, talking fast and thinking faster, on the phone while filling out forms, organizing Tony’s company and canceling appointments with a smile in her voice that didn’t reach her face, or her eyes. Steve phased out for the most part, trying not to listen in on business calls, but occasionally she would insist on him looking her in the eye. 

Whatever she saw there, she didn’t ask him to leave, and when she came back from meeting with the doctor, she sat beside him, and picked up his hand. 

“He’s out of surgery. They seem pleased with how it went.” 

He squeezed back when her hand clenched on his, slightly sweaty. 

“Can you go see him?” 

She shook her head. “He’s being moved right now. They’ll come get us.” 

“Us?” he asked, nervous. 

“I’m pretty sure you’ll have a panic attack if you don’t see him soon, and since I feel the same way, how about we just go together?”

He tucked her little hand in between both of his and hunched in on himself, feeling naked and grateful. “Please, Ms. Potts, that’d ...help. I--” 

He choked and ducked his head. “I lied to him, about how bad it was. Didn’t want him to be scared.” 

She twitched slightly, but her free hand landed on his shoulder, rubbing gently, and he looked up. 

“That sounds like a kind thing to do, Steve. Thank you for looking after him.” 

“We were _stuck_, and it was-- it was twelve hours before I could-- before we could move again. I just--” 

She let him trail off into quiet, little hand fierce in his.

They sat in silence, neither letting go. 

Eventually, her phone rang again, and she had to, but she stayed sitting a little closer than she had before. 

“Hey, Rhodey? Thanks for calling,” Pepper said, her voice so much softer that it caught his attention. 

“Yeah, he-- _no_ Rhodey, he’s hurt.” She choked on a laugh, half crying. “That's-- _god, _that’s exactly what I thought at first.” She listens for a sentence or two, then shakes her head. “Car accident, he was hit by a bit of tree? It’s no ones fault--” 

Steve’s heart lurched, and her hand landed on his shoulder with a vice grip. He settled back in his seat.

“He made it through surgery fine, we’re going to see him in a second. Just-- they’re moving him from surgery to ward at the moment, we have to wait. Did you pick up Dummy yet?” 

Her face softened, so Steve assumed that was a yes. 

“Uh huh. He asked for him, and I checked; he’s allowed in if he does his hospital behaviors for this guy... I have his number, they told me to page him when you get here.” 

A nurse spotted them from by the admissions desk, so Pepper finished up her call and stood to greet them. 

“Hello, Ms. Potts? And Mr Rogers. This way, I’ll talk you through it once we’re with him, and you can see he’s okay for yourselves.” 

Pepper said something, but Steve was tuning out again. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, but the fuzz refused to clear completely. He just wanted to see that Tony was okay; it was like all other details weren’t important enough to even see. 

Tony was in a almost-private bay, the curtain open so the nurses could watch him. His cheeks were pink, and he was breathing with his mouth open, like he was just napping. All sorts of tubes and wires led here and there, one of them bright, awful red, but Steve didn’t really care. 

He collapsed into the chair off to one side, and dropped his head into his hands, deep relief and exhaustion making him feel weak from neck to knees. 

Just sleeping. 

Thank god.

They let him stay while Pepper got the complete rundown from a nurse, and he tried not to listen to Tony’s private information. He stared at Tony instead, the tidy white dressings, and the little red tube, and at the tiny shifting of his eyes under his eyelids. 

* * *

“Steve?” 

He twitched awake, eyes burning like he’d slept with them open.

“There you are. You have to go, soon. Next of kin only. You can come back when its visitors hours, okay? I’ll text you.” 

His heart sank; Tony hadn’t woken up yet, he didn’t quite-- But he was only a... an acquaintance, at best. He steeled himself and got up, nodding and trying for a smile. His cheeks felt wrong, like he’d gotten frostbite. 

“Yes ma’am, you--” He bit his tongue. He’d been about to ask her to look after Tony, but that was so inappropriate that the social awkwardness froze his tongue before he finished the sentence. “When... Can I bring you anything in the morning, ma’am?” 

She smiled and he froze when she lifted a hand to his head and tidied his hair away from-- oh, the bandage, over the cut on his forehead that he couldn’t really remember getting. She smoothed it down, and touched something on his cheek, and Steve felt a shiver go through him from fingertips to elbows. 

“Go home, Steve, _sleep_, text me when you wake up, and I’ll tell you what’s going on, okay? You did a great job bringing him here, and he’s safe now.” 

He wondered what was going on on his face to make her sound so gentle, but he was too tired to try and do anything about it. He excused himself, words out of his own mouth that he barely heard, and drifted out into the corridor. It was busier here, people moving around, a patient doing a slow, assisted walk. He didn’t know which way was out, or how he was going to get home, so he pulled his phone out and hit the one on his speed dial. 

“Hey Steve! Get to the hospital ok? Clint filled me in.” 

He pulled the phone away from his ear at the torrent, blinking. 

“Steve? You there?” 

“H--hi Sam. I’m at the hospital.” 

“I know buddy. How’s it going?” Sam asked, quieter and more bearable. Steve put the phone back to his ear.

“I’m stuck. Came in the ambulance.” 

“You want me to come pick you up?”

Steve nodded, head drooping low and staying there when he finished. 

“Steve? Buddy?” 

“Mm?” 

“Oh wow. Okay. Steve, I need you to hand me to a nurse, okay?” 

Steve, alarmed by this, turned to the nurses station at the end of the ward, awkwardly holding the phone out. “Sir? My friend wants to talk to a nurse, can you...?” 

The nurse took the phone, to Steve’s relief, and started talking with Sam about something. He was giving Steve a very odd look, so Steve shuffled off to sit down on one of the blue pleather chairs opposite the station.

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, Sam was there and he could go home.

* * *

He woke up in a bundle on Sam’s couch. Sweating and half-suffocated, he struggled his way out of possibly four different blankets and popped a pink pompom hat off his head. Dazed and half asleep, he sat up in his pool of blankets, wobbling vaguely in place.

“Sam?”

His forehead twinged, and he rubbed at it with his palm; the bandage was peeling off. 

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” Sam said. Steve twisted in place to peer into the kitchen, where Sam was leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee. 

“...’morning.” 

“It’s seven in the evening, Steve, but I’ll let you have that one. Hungry?” 

Steve yawned massively and nodded. 

“Nice tonsils. C’mon, I made chicken and potato pot pie on the assumption that you haven’t eaten in twenty four hours.” 

Steve shuffled to his feet and followed him to the kitchen table. “Yeah. We had some chocolate, but I made Tony eat it.” 

“I’m sure it helped. Sit.” 

He sat, and a plate of pie slid across the table to him. He fumbled in the mug in the center for a fork and tucked in. His hunger kicked up a notch at the first bite and he looked up at Sam in gratitude. 

“This makes up for the hat, Sam; you’re brilliant.” 

“I know, buddy. Chew your goddamn food before talking you reprobate.” 

Steve tucked in, flaky pastry and succulent chicken, gravy potatoes; just what he needed. Sam puttered around the kitchen, emptying the dishwasher, then joined him at the table with a cup of coffee. 

“Thanks for coming to get me, I didn’t know what to do with myself.” 

“It was a scare, let me tell you, hearing you talk like that, then the line goes dead? I thought your boy had died or something.” 

Steve flinched. “No, no... I was just really tired, Sam. I’m sorry.” 

“You nodded, Steve. To a _phone call_. Do you remember getting a consciousness check from the nurse?” 

Steve wordlessly shook his head, mouth full. 

“You swore when they asked you who the president is,” Sam told him, pointing at him with his coffee stirring spoon. “Which, totally in character, so I knew you were fine.” 

“Oh great, so I only failed officially.” 

“Nah, the nurse said its getting more common. No worries.” 

Steve grumbled into his dinner, then fell silent while he processed. “Any news from the hospital?” 

“No, I don’t read other people’s messages, _unlike some people_.” He leaned back in his chair and got Steve’s coat down off the rack to pass it over.

“You can’t vague-bitch people who aren’t here, Sam, ain’t fair.” He rummaged in his pockets for his phone, found it in the weird inside pocket he personally never used, and thumbed in the passcode. Immediately, it blew up with bings and buzzes. 

“Didn’t say I was above putting it on silent though.” 

Steve nodded vaguely, scrolling through his email and message notifications. Email from a supplier, bullshit about missed fax paperwork, email from Pepper with her contact details.

And then, under that, fifteen texts from “Mr Stark - Client”. 

Steve dropped his fork and clutched at his phone while the messages loaded. 

STARK [12:07]: I’m awake; doing fine. You owe me a coffee, Rogers. 

STARK [12:08]: There is a hot blanket on my bed, but I’d rather have you, ;) 

STARK [12:08]: Sorry, Mr. Rogers, he’s still coming out of the anaesthetic. Doing fine, but a dope, X PPotts.

STARK [12:36]: I meant every word, please, come visit and bring coffee. 

STARK [12:44]: DUM-E IS HERE

STARK [12:44]: HE’S GREAT 

STARK [12:44]: <57897ghp23.jpg>

STARK [12:47]: Hope you’re resting up, Mr. Rogers, Dum-E is sitting on him now, so he’s gone back to sleep. -- J Rhodes.

STARK [17:13]: Real food is amazing. Have you eaten yet? You should, eating is great. 

STARK [17:14]: Dum-E wants my roast chicken. 

STARK [17:14]: But refuses to eat my lettuce. 

STARK [17:14]: betrayal 

STARK [17:37]: it’s all gone D:

STARK [17:40]: I’m so sorry, Mr. Rogers,

STARK [17:41]: I’m keeping his phone for now, let us know how you’re doing. X PPots

He slid his empty plate away and slumped all the way onto the table.

ME [19:03]: I'm glad you're feeling better, Mr. Stark. I'm doing fine, nothing a hot meal couldn't fix. Dum-E looks adorable.

Steve read it back and winced at how painfully banal it felt. He changed 'Mr. Stark' to 'Tony' and sent it before he could change his mind again. 

"Good news?' Sam asked, taking his plate back over to the kitchen counter. Steve watched it go with vague sorrow.

"Yeah, he sounds lovely... Good! I mean, he sounds healthy?" 

Sam turned back and Steve's plate was magically full of steaming pie again. Steve felt his gut unclench and he reached for it with his fork first. Sam slid it across the table with an inscrutable look.

"So, got a crush on the client there Stevie?" 

Steve choked. "Uh, no? I-- what made you--"

Sam watched him babble without mercy and eventually Steve ground to a halt. 

"Thats...a solid maybe. Sorry Sam." 

Sam let up the blank stare. "Don't apologize, Steve-o. It was one hell of a way to meet. You picked up a crush, probably in the first ten minutes knowing you, and then you had to watch some very scary shit happen to him? You are gonna leak feelings all over for weeks." 

Steve felt his face flush hotter than his dinner and stuffed his face to escape responding. 

Sam left him to it, thank god, and fiddled with his phone. 

“Clint says your truck is done, Barnes anxiety-repaired it while you were on the mountain.”

Steve grunted a thanks, and poked at his phone to send Bucky [still alive what did you do to bronco]. 

His phone pinged back with an eggplant emoji within seconds. Then, slightly later, a pissy [u r welcome]. 

“So, visiting hours are seven till eight, and ten till twelve.” 

Steve lurched up, looking at the clock, but Sam kicked him in the ankle. 

“You wont get there in time, and you only just woke up, _and_ I am not driving you. I will take you to the garage tomorrow and you can drive yourself.” 

Steve subsided, grateful. “Thanks, Sam. It just...feels like he’s still bleeding on me, y’know?” 

“Graphic, but yeah, I know buddy.”

Of course Sam understood. Steve settled down to finish his dinner. 

* * *

His phone glowed happily at him when he woke up the next morning, and he pulled it into the blankets to read his messages. Most were nothing much; Buck sending him pictures of wet cats, Clint’s morning report on the night before, but Tony had gotten his phone back at some point and Steve huddled down in the bed to reply.

STARK [06:38]: they made me go to sleep at nine lastnight i slept for 9+1/2 hours what more do they want

ME [06:50]: good morning, Tony. 

STARK [06:50]: morning steve

STARK [06:50]: DUM-E is my only ally he stole my phone from pepper

ME [06:58]: Better than a TV remote? 

STARK [07:00]: By miles. Actually useful. Good dog. 

ME [07:02]: how’re you feeling?

STARK [07:14]: getting tired of that question. Should I set my relationship status to ‘its complicated’? 

Steve blushed instantly and hesitated over answering for long enough that the three little dots resolved into another message.

STARK [07:15]: because my relationship with health has been complicated for ActUaL YeARS. 

ME [07:17]: I’m sorry it had to get more complicated. Am I okay to come and visit today? 

STARK [08:06]: Absolutely. I’d like to see for myself that you’re okay. 

ME [08:11]: That’s my line. Are you allowed coffee? 

STARK [08:12]: Bring it anyway the smell is half the love

STARK [08:12]: Thank you, Steve. Let’s never talk about it again, but. Thank you for getting me here alive.

ME [08:30]: Any time, Tony. Can I bring DUM-E snacks? 

STARK [08:32]: of course (you’re a dogthief arent you you cant have his love)

ME [08:32]: I can try. See you soon.

* * *

By half eight the next morning, Steve was fully recovered from his night in the cold; his forehead scabbed over and his belly as full as Sam could stuff it with what he had left in the house. Unfortunately for Sam, this meant he was jittering around the living room in borrowed jeans and Not Mentioning that Bucky would have opened the garage by now and that they could go get Bronco. 

Sam dawdled over getting his coat until he thought Steve might actually explode. 

Driving to the garage calmed Steve down again, but the mix of anxiety and energy never really went away. He kept checking his phone, biting his lip... Sam left him to it; Steve was in the last stages of an ongoing trauma event, _and_ the first stages of a crush; that was a bog Sam didn’t want to stir up any more than he already had. 

When they pulled up to the garage, bronco was already on the forecourt steaming gently. Bucky rocked up to the passenger side while sam was still getting untangled and physically hauled Steve out of the car and put him in a headlock so he could knock Steve’s hat off and ruffle his hair with his stump. 

“Buckkyy, nooo, please, Buck--” 

Bucky didn’t relent, turning Steve’s hair into an increasingly dense birdsnest; Steve always was a dandelion fluff when he was freshly showered.

“I’ll leave him to you, Barnes!” Sam yelled out the window. 

Bucky waved back, with the stump. Sam rolled his eyes and pulled away. 

* * *

Arriving at the hospital, Steve felt like he might vibrate out of his skin. A cup holder from the coffee shop held four coffees, some pastries, and a packet of unseasoned roast chicken, which Steve juggled then shoved in his coat pocket when he decided that was too weird to take into the hospital visibly. 

The receptionist directed him left, and down, and at some point in the long corridors and confusingly same-y stairwells, his jittery energy faded into a numbing anxiety. His steps slowed until he came to a stop, just outside the ward he didn’t remember leaving, twenty four hours before. 

Inside, the nurses station was hosting a mini meeting, and beyond was busy with patients and visitors. Steve stood looking through the windows for a few minutes, thinking about nothing much and hearing the whistle of the wind through Tony’s bashed up truck. 

He was jolted out of his thoughts when a nurse looked up at the doorway and they made accidental eye contact through the window. The nurse didn’t react; too busy with work, but Steve was shaken free and he finally headed inside. 

Tony was in the bed at the end, near a patio door to a courtyard. Pepper was in one of the visitors chairs, sitting next to a black man with a dog leash sticking out of his pocket. Dum-E was draped over Tony’s legs, on his back with his legs all over the place.

Tony was awake, pink cheeked and sleepy looking. His arm was in a big, padded blue sling and someone had brought him a big, soft airforce tee that swamped him a little bit, but made Steve’s chest ache with how comfortable he looked. The oxygen line and blood transfusion were both gone, but he was still hooked up to an IV and bunch of monitoring machines, one of which was collecting a basketful of printouts.

“Um, hi. Hello,” Steve said, stopping at the end of the bed and feeling too big and clumsy to actually move. Pepper perked up and waved, and the man nodded a greeting, but Tony was talking over them:

“Steeeve! You made it, hi!” Tony started to sit up, reaching for him with his good arm, but Dum-E rolled over on his thighs and he gave up. 

“I got breakfast.” He held up the tray. “Or maybe you had breakfast and this is second breakfast? But I got fresh pastries.” 

“Pastries? You’re a miracle, Rogers. I could eat a horse.” Tony made a little grabby gesture and Steve _melted_ when Dum-E perked up and rolled to his feet. The dog wagged with his whole body and fetched a rope toy from the foot of the bed to give Tony.

Tony’s face softened and he tugged on the handle, briefly. “You’re hopeless. No pastry for you, Dummy.” 

Dum-E let him win, and Tony tossed the toy back to him. 

“You’re looking better, Steve; you were quite a sight yesterday,” Pepper said, moving her bag off a wheelchair. “We got you a seat, Tony won’t be using it for a minute.” 

“I won’t be using it at _all, _thank you, my legs are fine.”

Steve settled gingerly in the chair and offered Pepper and the unknown man their pick of the coffees. 

“You’re still in the amber for blood pressure; don’t think I haven’t learned how to read these machines.” 

“Pffft, I just need some coffee, Pep. And look! Starbucks!” 

Steve handed him his decaf, and the tray with the little creamer cups and sugar packets.

“You’ve known him all of two days and you’re already running him around after your bad habits,” the man said, lifting his cup in thanks to Steve, but talking to Tony. He turned to Steve after though, and held out his hand. “Jim Rhodes, nice to meet you.” 

Steve shook his hand and was opening his mouth to answer when Tony interrupted.

“Call him Rhodey, Steve; he hates ‘Jim’, he just feels obligated to sound like an ‘adult’.” 

Steve cocked his head in Rhodey’s direction and got a reluctantly agreeable shrug. “Nice to meet you, Rhodey.” 

The man saluted him with the coffee. 

Tony was in the process of dumping in three pots of creamer and two sugar packets, all with one hand. The little piece of paper in the corner of his mouth said that he’d torn them open with his teeth. He held the paper tray in his lap, stirred it all together, then practically cuddled the warm cup while he took his first sip. Steve couldn’t help but smile.

Pepper and Rhodey started having a conversation about something business related, talking about the storm, but Steve couldn’t spare the attention from Tony. 

He looked... sleepy. Happy, safe, and reasonably healthy, but tired. He was propped up almost but not quite upright, and once he’d enjoyed his first taste of coffee, he slumped back into a pile of pillows with his eyes closed. Dum-E crept up onto Tony’s thighs, chin between his front paws and eyes only for Tony. He snuffled into the blankets over Tony’s belly button then flopped with his head pressed against Tony’s side.

He looked at Steve for a second, then at Pepper, then snuggled down and watched Tony.

“Delicious, delicious decaf,” Tony mumbled, waving his mug in Steve’s direction, vaguely. “You doing okay?” 

Steve had been asked this often enough since the storm, but hearing it from Tony made a zing run up his spine and he remembered seeing the snow and ice when he’d been standing outside the ward. 

“I was scared.” He ducked his head and fiddled with the bag of pastries. “It’s better now you’re awake.” 

“You...” Tony heaved a giant sigh, forehead creasing and lips drawing down in a frown. “I wasn’t. You were really great, Steve. With your duct tape and the blankets and-- yeah.” 

“You’re the one who keeps half a workshop in his truck.” 

Tony slitted one eye open, giving him a smug, sideways look. “Never know when you might need to fix something.” 

Steve pulled out a blueberry and chocolate muffin and held it out. “Now thats an attitude I can appreciate.” 

Tony hesitated, fingers twitching like the muffin might be hot, but took it eventually. Steve got a custard swirl for himself, and passed the bag to Pepper. He nibbled, watching Tony enjoy his muffin with a kind of unreserved hunger that made his hesitance even stranger. Steve decided not to ask. 

Tony’s stuff, his phone, a bottle of water, the coffee mug, were arrayed around his good hand in a part circle on the bed and the little table half over the far side. Steve was on his bad side, and Dum-E was taking up the rest of the available space, along with his toy, but it still made Steve feel tight and anxious, that Tony couldn’t use his arm. 

Finishing his pastry, Steve tucked the bag into his pocket and pulled out the deli container of plain chicken. 

“Um, can I...?” he asked, showing Tony the box. 

Tony examined the package carefully, turning towards Steve and curling up slightly on the bed. “Yeah, small pieces; he’s a hog. Dummy; sit!” 

Dum-E sat up, tongue lolling out, one paw planted gently on Tony’s thigh, and the other denting the mattress. 

“Look, Dummy, snacks.” He pointed at Steve and flicked his fingers, and Dum-E went from calm ‘good-boy’ behaviour to a wriggling ball of excitement. “Tell him to give you his paw; he can have a treat for each trick, okay?” 

“Sure! He’s amazing and a good boy and very clever, aren’t you, Dummy? Paw?” 

Steve held his hand out and Dum-E put a very warm, very soft paw on his open palm before descending back into an excited wriggle and almost falling over. Steve offered him a piece of chicken, which the dog took with very gentle teeth, and almost no slobber. 

“What’s his job, really?” Steve asked, quietly. 

Tony’s face went a little soft, particularly around the corners of his eyes, and he buried his fingers in Dum-E’s ruff. “He detects tachycardia, and brings me medication if I don’t have my bracelet.” 

Steve accepted this quietly, and asked Dum-E for his other paw, which was duly exchanged for some chicken. 

“I’m glad you have him. He’s lovely.” 

Tony nodded. “It makes a big difference. I don’t need the detection much anymore, but the company is... He’s important. Try ‘lie down’ and ‘play dead’.” 

Steve did, copying the strange gestures Tony showed him. Dum-E rolled right over Tony’s legs without a second thought, legs up in the air and tongue lolling all the way out. Steve gave him another reward. 

“I know what wanting a bit of company is like. Get’s quiet up there.” He asks for Dum-E’s paw again, and holds it for a second, while Dum-E looks him in the eye and tried to look very hungry and pitiful. “Then in summer, it’s almost fifty people, and all I want is a bit of quiet.”

Steve put the empty container of chicken on the bed and Dum-E cleaned it out with noisy pleasure. 

They watched him, together, a little bubble of quiet in the busy ward. 

“Hey Steve, did you mean it about the date? I’d like to--” 

“Yes!” He blurted, a little louder than Dum-E appreciated. “I-- I know it was a crazy two days, but, I want to-- Yes. Please?” 

Tony reached over and picked up Steve’s hand, even though it was awkward and across his body. Steve’s jitters smoothed away instantly; Tony was warm and perfect. 

“How about we get takeout, and watch stupid TV and fall asleep in a million blankets on my couch? Sound okay?” 

Steve could have cried, and had to cover his eyes with his free hand. Tony squeezed his other hand. “That sounds great, Tony, really, really great.” 

“Of course, Dummy will be there, too.” 

Steve laughed and dropped his hand to cover his mouth instead, trying to stifle the awkward donkey-honk. “Foiled, my nefarious plan to seduce you for your dog is revealed at the very first!” 

Tony joined in with the laughing, tugging on Steve’s hand and grinning wide and free. “I knew it, you only want me for my assets.”

“Of course...” Steve said, not looking at the dog. “They’re pretty amazing.” 

Tony broke the intense eye contact, cheeks bright red and heart rate bliping on the monitor. “Alright Casanova, I’m a done-deal, turn it down.” 

Steve tugged on his hand and leaned in close so he could put it to his cheek; 

“Never.” 


End file.
